Shoes half worn with untied laces, bag strapped to one arm, my other hand struggling to find the arm hole of my jacket sleeve and my free hand furiously pressing the pedestrian call button and wishing the lights change from green to red. My house was just after a traffic light on a major road in Merrylands and to catch the 907 bus to Parramatta every morning, I had to cross to the other side of the road. This meant sometimes I caught the bus just before it takes off and other times, the bus leaves while I’m stuck at a red light.
While this is relatively true, this notion discredits the fact that you still have to put in a reasonable amount of effort to ensure that you maximise the opportunities you supposedly have. Thus, most of us in this category spend a lot of time passionately defending our “hustle” to our peers.
After the euphoria of moving to a new place subsides, the void is instantly filled with nostalgia and most people experience withdrawal symptoms as a coping mechanism because a lot of things have not gone as smooth as they imagined. The emotional turmoil is full on and after a few months of handling the situation as best as possible, some people decide to return to their previous destination while for others who can’t due to financial or job commitments spend the rest of their time in a mindless state of depression.
I applied to any and every job I was remotely skilled to do because I was fast running out of options and I needed to start saving up my fees for the next semester. Getting a job this time around was not to boost my ego, confidence or assuage my dignity, it was a primal necessity for survival in the coming months.
The first few days in my new house was bizarre. Everyone was juggling school and work which meant I was usually by myself in the house till late at night when they got back. While this should have been comforting, it wasn’t. The silence was a constant reminder of my shortcomings and how so far out of control my life had gone.